


I Know You

by misscai



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-27 02:40:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15014870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misscai/pseuds/misscai
Summary: Rook doesn't think that John's past will affect the way he treats their children--not really.She watches him closely anyway. Just to be sure.John notices.





	I Know You

Rook was half-awake when she heard two pairs of feet trying to sneak across the hardwood floors of the Seed Ranch. A smile curved her lips, knowing exactly what would happen within the next two minutes because it happened nearly every morning for the past two weeks. Sure enough, when Rook’s internal count reached sixty, the footsteps stopped right beside the bed, and when she’d reached seventy-five, the mattress had dipped under the weight of two small bodies. At eighty, she rolled over, smirking at the dark-haired, blue-eyed children who pressed their fingers to their lips to keep her quiet. Then, at ninety, the two kids pounced on their father’s back. John’s groan could be heard even over the din of the kids’ giggles.

“I can’t wait until they outgrow this roughhousing,” he whined, turning his head to peek one eye out at Rook. She was smiling, but watching him closely. She’d long since learned the minute tells he expressed before his temper flared—their children hadn’t. They were playful and rambunctious, never meaning any harm but also not knowing John’s limits. His childhood traumas ran deep; the last thing Rook wanted was for him to snap and injure their kids.

The kids babbled at John, their words coming so fast that they were unintelligible, and while they talked they were poking and prodding him. It was a split-second thing, when it happened: an errant finger jabbed too hard into the soft spot behind John’s ear, and his expression flashed like a lightning storm. Rook sat up, quickly scooping both kids into her own lap and away from John. Immediately she realized her mistake—the movement was too abrupt, too unexplained. One glance at John let her know that he’d noticed.

“Let’s go get dressed,” she said with fake cheer for the kids’ benefit, “and then we’ll make breakfast for Daddy, okay?” Easily excited by the prospect of busting eggs, they scampered off the bed and back to their rooms. Rook sighed, standing and crossing over to shut the door. She knew what was coming, and the kids didn’t need to hear it.

“You think I’ll hurt them.” His voice was dangerously level. “You think I’ll hurt my own flesh and blood.”

“John—”

“I am not some feral beast,” he snapped, on his feet now and pacing towards Rook. “I can control myself around my own children. I’m not a monster—I’m not my father!” His palm smacked the wall right beside Rook’s ear. She didn’t flinch, just waited until the heaving of his chest calmed. When it had, she reached up and wrapped her hand around his wrist, easing his hand down until she could lace their fingers together.

“You’re not your father,” she agreed, keeping her voice low. “But this, right here, is why I watch our kids. I don’t think you’re a monster. I’m not afraid of you. Hell, if you scared me, we wouldn’t even be here right now.” Rook adjusted her stance until she was looking him in the eye. “I know you, John. If your moods were rain, I’d be the old man’s kneecap. I can tell when you’re going to flip. I know the things that set you off: too much noise, too many touches, not enough obedience, not enough respect. But the kids are kids and they don’t know those things about you yet. They don’t understand.”

“So you _do_ think I’ll hurt them.” He was still angry, she could tell, but there was an undercurrent of pain in his voice, too. Rook used her free hand to cup his cheek.

“I think it’s better to be safe than sorry. I’m protecting you, too, John—do you understand? I know you, and I know that if you hurt them, you’ll hate yourself for it.” When he didn’t respond, Rook squeezed his hand. “I’m going to cook. Think about what I said, and if you want to talk more, we’ll take the kids to Joseph and let him babysit.” John nodded. Rook kissed his cheek, then walked down the hall to the kids’ rooms.

Daniel was already dressed, standing on a stool in front of his mirror and running a comb through his hair. He beamed at Rook when she walked in and blew a raspberry on his cheek. He was the spitting image of John, from head to toe.

“Ready to scramble some eggs, Danny?”

“Yeah!” He set down the comb, having failed to tame the ever-present cowlick at the back of his head. Rook licked her palm and swiped the hair into place.

“You remember how Daddy likes them?”

“No yellow, just white.”

“Very good.” Rook knelt down and motioned for Daniel to move closer, then she glanced around the room to be sure nobody else was present, whispering like she had a secret. “If you’re really careful, you can go downstairs and get the eggs out of the refrigerator. Can you be careful?”

“Yes careful,” he whispered back, and Rook winked at him, sending him on his way as she walked across the hall to Naomi’s room. The younger girl was naked except for mismatched socks and her pull-up diaper, and Rook laughed.

“What do you want to wear today, princess?”

“Boo!” She pointed at a section of dresses in her closet, and Rook retrieved the one she was indicating: a costume dress, made of blue tulle and with rhinestones all over. She had her father’s sense of impeccable style.

“Alright, arms up.” Rook wiggled the dress onto Naomi’s body, smoothing out the skirt and tightening the band that held her wispy ponytail in place. “Come on, baby girl, let’s go find your brother and hope he hasn’t cracked all the eggs.”

“Piggy,” Naomi insisted, pulling on Rook’s pajama pants. Rook crouched, letting the toddler clamber up onto her back for a ride downstairs. Daniel was standing at the foot of the stairs, cradling the egg carton to his chest and looking incredibly smug for not dropping them. Rook smiled at him, setting Naomi down on the countertop and placing the eggs near the stove.

“What do we do before we touch food?” She scooped up Daniel, setting him on the other side of the sink and turning the water on.

“Wash up,” the kids chorused, following Rook’s lead and rubbing soap into a lather over their skin before dipping them under the water and drying them on a towel. In a flurry of practiced movement, Rook turned on the stove, set a pan on the burner, and retrieved a bowl from the cabinet which she pressed into Naomi’s lap.

“Naomi, hold tight,” Rook instructed, placing a yolk separator on the edge of the ceramic. Daniel handed her eggs one by one, and Rook cracked them into the separator so that only the whites reached the bowl. “Ready for the shakers?” The kids nodded eagerly. Rook gave Daniel the pepper and Naomi the salt, holding the bowl. “Okay. How many should we do?”

“Ten!” Naomi crowed. It was her favorite number, though she never knew exactly how many ‘ten’ was—she just knew that it was a quantity.

“A hundred!” Daniel said with a grin, knowing just how big the quantity was. Rook widened her eyes playfully, dropping her jaw.

“A whole hundred? Really? You sure?”

“Yeah,” he giggled.

“How about three?” Both kids’ heads whipped around at the sound of their father’s voice. John entered the kitchen, his hair styled and smartly dressed in fitted jeans, a button-up shirt, and a vest. “We can count together.” He wrapped his hand over Naomi’s, helping her hold the salt. “Ready? One… two...”

“Tree!” Naomi shrieked, flinging her arms into the air. Rook saw it all as if it were in slow motion. The salt shaker smacked against John’s nose. Tiny white crystals arced up towards his eyes. He jerked away, his arm knocking the shaker out of Naomi’s hand as he grabbed at his nose. The glass shattered on the hardwood floor, a puddle of white spilling from the shards. Blood dripped down over John’s cupid’s bow. The whole room went still.

John’s brow twitched, dipping ever so slightly downwards. Rook’s heart rate spiked, instinct telling her to grab Naomi and grab her now. But before she could move, John spoke.

“Ow,” he said.

“Oh no.” Naomi’s eyes were wide and watery as she grabbed fistfuls of her dress. “No-mee bad.” John shook his head vehemently, setting a hand on the girl’s shoulder and rubbing his thumb along the joint.

“You aren’t bad, princess. It was an accident.” He smiled, pinching his nose a little harder so that his voice went nasally. “You just made Daddy talk a little funny.” Despite her tears, Naomi giggled. “Did Mommy show you how to take care of boo-boos?” The little girl nodded, reaching for the paper towel that Daniel helpfully handed her. She folded it in half, stretching out to press it to John’s nose—he bent down so that she could reach. Then she leaned forward and kissed the towel, adding a noisy ‘mwah’ sound to the action. John gasped. “Are you magic, princess? Look!” Too quickly for Naomi to notice, John wiped away the blood and presented his daughter a clean face. “I’m all better!”

“Yay, Daddy!” Naomi clapped her hands together, and John beamed at her, scooping her up into his arms. She settled on one hip; when John reached for him, Daniel settled on the other.

“One of your coloring books is on the table. You two go color while I help Mommy finish breakfast, okay?” They nodded eagerly, and John set them down well away from the broken glass, watching them take off at a run. “We made great kids,” he said softly, turning to look at Rook with an uncommon tenderness in his eyes. “You’re a good mother. I...” He paused, a self-conscious flush rising on his cheeks. “I’m trying. To not be my father, I mean.”

“I know,” Rook assured him, setting the bowl aside and pressing her body against John’s in the tightest hug she could manage. “You won’t be like him. Not ever.”

“How do you know?” Rook pulled back, surprised and endeared by the vulnerability in her husband’s voice. His gaze was intense, pleading for an answer. She smiled.

“Because I know you, John.”


End file.
